Take It All Back
by Crashing Star
Summary: There are some things you wish you'd never said, things that you regret the moment they come out of your mouth. Very short, rather sad tag to "Angels in Manhattan." I don't own Doctor Who. Genre Hurt/Comfort, but there isn't really any comfort.


There are some things you wish you'd never said, things that you regret the moment they come out of your mouth. River wasn't the kind of person to make idle wishes, and although there were plenty of things in life that she'd regretted doing, she'd never really regretted words so much as actions.

But this was different.

She'd meant it as a joke, a light little something to ease the tension, make the situation light.

"Only one psychopath per TARDIS, don't you think?"

How heartless.

As if the Doctor hadn't already lost so much, as if he hadn't already lost so many. And to murder, as it was. His family. His friends. Each and every member of his race. He had killed all of them. Sometimes, when she looked into that forever young face, she'd forget how old her Sweetie really was.

But then he would slip; then he would look at her, and she would see the glimpse of the wounded, tortured crying soul inside, begging for some understanding, someone to love him and care for him, who wouldn't leave him and die like everyone else.

But everyone did. Everyone left him eventually. She'd heard the stories. Susan, Jo, Ramona, Sarah Jane, Brigadier, Tegan, Zoe, Jamie, K-9, Martha, Mickey, Donna, Rose...River had always been a bit wary about Rose. The Doctor had truly loved her, that much was certain. After all, a clone Doctor had gone with her into another dimension to spend the remainder of his life with her.

But he had loved her, and he had lost her.

And now, Amy and Rory. His best friends. More than that, his family. Quite literally, actually, as they were her parents and she was his wife. Amy and Rory were the Doctor's family, and had been there for him for far longer than they realized. And now they, too, were gone. The Doctor had even seen the gravestone. Never mind that they had grown into a nice old age, never mind that they had settled down and lived their life. They were, for all intents and purposes, dead.

And the Doctor blamed himself.

And River had called him a psychopath.

She'd seen the hurt in his eyes as she said that, and for the first time in her life, she wished, oh, she wished on everything she could think of, that she could take it back. But she could not. The words remained, the damage was done.

The Doctor was a murderer. Maybe not intentionally, but that's what he was.

He found people, people he liked, people who cared about him and took care of him. He loved every bit of care he could get, and he paid them the stars in return. But then, when all was said and done, the people would be lost. Some were smarter than others, and said their goodbyes before it was too late. Some were wiser still, and stayed with the Doctor until they absolutely couldn't stay anymore, and something happened to permanently separate them from him, like being trapped in another dimension, or being touched by an Angel and sent to live their lives in the past.

And some were lucky and were returned to their homes, without even the remembrance of their incredible journey, to live their lives as they would have lived them had he not stepped in.

But some died. Some, that would not have died if not for the Doctor. And never mind that they didn't blame him, and wouldn't have traded their time with him for all the lives in the world; the truth was they died and the Doctor was responsible.

And it broke his heart every time.

She knew what he would do; he would be upset, so very upset. He would travel to a place he'd never been in an attempt to forget, and he would swear to never let another soul get so close to him again. He would swear, to never take someone with him again, never risk another death, never say another painful goodbye.

And then he would meet someone who cared; he would meet someone who would smile, and talk to him, and help him get out of whatever situation he found himself in, and he would heal, just a little bit. Then he would give in to his desperate need for companionship, and he would offer a trip. Just one trip, to repay the immeasurable joy he would feel at their companionship. They would accept, he would be happy, he would offer them a permanent position on his TARDIS. They would again accept, and he would be happy for a time.

And then they would be lost, and he would be even more lonely than before. He would have one more name to add to the list of those he had killed, and as the list grew ever longer, so would his need, his desperation for friendship.

No one deserved to be that lonely. But here he was, the impossibly old, impossibly young paradox. He had single-handedly killed more souls in his lifetimes than entire races of evil creatures had throughout their entire histories. He was, without a doubt, the most dangerous man in existence. And all he wanted was a friend, a single constant to stay with him during his hard times, to be there for him when he fell.

Not even River could do that. She, too, was breakable. One day, she would die. One day, she would go off on an adventure, and never come home again. She could only hope the Doctor wouldn't be there to see it.

"Only one psychopath per TARDIS, don't you think?"

There had never been more truth in a single one of River's statements.

And there had never been one she regretted as much as this.


End file.
